A Brother's Promise
by Gonou
Summary: One Shot. After their mother's death, the night becomes unbearable for Jack. Bobby comforts. No slash.


-1The wind was bitter.

That freezing Michigan wind tore through the dirty streets like a merciless invader, invisible fingers of cold and sleet frosting up the window pane with ivory icing and thunderous whips of glacial snow lashed and forking paths of icy destruction. Detroit winters were vicious. The glass window of the upper story, of the Mercer house gave a rattle though it was, who was oblivious with the heavy punk screeches pouring from the headphones firmly clamped around the ears of none other than Jack.

Jack was sprawled flat on his back staring at the ceiling that stretched on forever, his tall and gangly frame that had now outgrown the childhood bed was proved by his feet dangling off the edge and his head nestled with no space against the worn headboard. The world seemed to have gotten bigger.. And a sense of vulnerability ran a tremor through his spine, and he turned on his side, curling up his long legs. The rims of his clear blue eyes were smeared with red and deep shadows, and they gazed blindly with no purpose, drowning in the sorrows of his music. His foot twitched to the heavy beat that was streaming from his CD player.

Ripped and outdated posters littered the dark walls, and his guitar was wedged in the crook of the corner near the bed, just waiting for him to pick it up.. and strum a few tunes. Though he wouldn't. The house seemed to forbidden him. It used to be a place of comfort and a sense of belonging. Now it was cold.

It wasn't even a decent hour, it was about 3:49 AM and the household was in slumber, or so he thought. The house felt foreboding and every time the old floorboards gave a springy creak, Jack would sit up frozen, his heart pounding with his blood that had run cold for the last day. Now that his mother's presence was no longer in existence to his knowing, a weakness shook his knees even though he was an adult now. He was too old for this now, and he shook his head. All he had left were his brothers. Jerry, the family man, had agreed to stay the night, the night when they all needed each other the most. He was in his old room at the opposite end of the hall. His brothers. Angel, the quiet ex-marine, was downstairs with that loud girlfriend, who was either really bad at English or didn't know Spanish at all. And Bobby… Bobby. His eldest, hot-headed brother. The Michigan Mauler. Was next door, probably dead in his zombie sleep, which he became a rock on the bed for eight hours.

"Cracker Jack."

Jack knew that voice. Bobby could have heard the music drifting through the walls, that would have made any normal person deaf, but not the third-class rock star. And there he was himself, his short but impressive burly frame blocking the moonlight from the doorway, scratching at his neck and yawning widely.

"What do you want Bobby?" Jack's voice, almost too deep and low for himself, muttered.

"I want you to turn that shit off."

Jack didn't obey. He knew that a gruff tone like that could twist the arm of the most mean gangster… with a little persuasion perhaps. He used to give in his older brother's command when he was younger …about 16, when he Bobby told him to stay home when he and his other brothers took off for the bar, but now he had grown into his own person. Even though he was still in his rebellious and moody stage.

"I know you can hear me Jack-ass.."

Jack sighed, and pressed the power button off with irritation and flipped the player away from him with a bit too much force. The player soared above the bedspread and hit the wall with a cringing crash. Bobby's boxer physique moved slowly in the room, and sat at the end of the bed, trying to suppress a sigh. His eyes scanned Jack's profile which was bathed in pale moonlight and watery rivers, which Jack suddenly became conscious of his brother and wiped the trail of salty tears from his cheek.

"You little fairy… you been crying at fucking three in the morning?"

"Not now Bobby." Jack sounded tired and groggy, though not from sleep deprivation. It wasn't annoyance either. It was a dead, listless and non-caring.

"You think I don't cry? I know you're a bit on the feminine side Jackie, but I admit I shed some tears too. We all have."

Typical Bobby. Always has a good meaning, but never can leave the jokes alone.

Actually, Bobby had sat in Evelyn's bathroom for two hours, gasping and sobbing in front of the mirror, and burying his face in the towels. Being in her room was too much, even for him and he had held his sorrow pretty well in at the funeral.

"Sure. Whatever. Go back to sleep and leave me the fuck alone." Jack grumbled, snatching the red lighter from his bedside table and fishing around for a joint in the blackness, his fingers catching the last cigarette. His shirt was off, his white punk t-shirt thrown lazily on the floor, displaying a generous amounts of inkings on his arms and chest. Bobby remembered when he took Jack to get his first tattoo, and now it seemed he kept adding to the collection.

"Touchy touchy. No need for fucking language. Let me remind you little brother, I don't take orders-"

"I can't sleep." Jack suddenly mumbled between a breath of air and smoke, the flare of his lighter dying in the dark.

"Well, that's obvious…you think I'd fucking be in here staying up, wasting sleep, with you on this little girl slumber party?"

"Bobby, cut the crap."

Jack's voice sounded almost pained and choked, though rarely did he talk about his emotions, he did freely cry in front of his brothers. Bobby remembered the first time Jack came to the front door with the social worker, large wide blue eyes…tufts of messy blonde hair sticking up in all directions.. Just frail, scared and helpless. It took a long time for Jack to trust the older boy. Now Jack looked just like that, and a caring expression creased Bobby's tough face, and he slid off the edge and sat next to his little brother's still frame.

"Is it Ma? If its some other shit about that tough bitch at the end of the street, I will give them an ass-whupping for you. You know that, right?"

"I.." Jack's hand shook, and the cigarette trembled at the edge of his cracked lips, which he had probably bitten and gnawed to pieces. Bobby could tell the kid needed a break from those death sticks at the frantic drag he inhaled, trying to breathe steadily.

"You guys, …are always leaving. I …miss you guys all the time." Jack's deep voice cracked, and went a note higher, but he cleared his throat. No wonder everyone though him so gay, he couldn't fucking control his quaking throat.

"Angel and Jerry will always be around for you. Brothers don't sell each other out, remember that." Bobby slapped Jack's back gently, and stood up. "Get some sleep now…"

"Will you?" Jack half-sat up, his eyebrows contracted in that little frown he wore, and he looked more like a little kid than ever.

Bobby's face was unreadable for a few moments, his brown eyes closing for a moment, and he gave in to the tender moment,

"…Yeah, you sappy little …come here." He caught Jack's skinny frame in a long, close hug, finding his own eyes burning just a bit. "I love you man."

Jack didn't stay anything but buried his face in Bobby's comforting shoulder, but mumbled something back, and sniffed, clinging to Bobby as though he would vanish.

"I'll stay for a while longer. I promise nothing will take me away." Bobby murmured,

"Nothing?"

"What if you get sent to jail for that kid's dog you lit on fire?"

"Only that Jack. Only that."


End file.
